


Blessed Cabbie

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...he prepared himself for the upcoming eastern wind that his lover was</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Cabbie

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a disgustingly romantic, and I like it!!! So deal with it!!!

It was one of the many lazy afternoons they shared at 221B. In between cases, John had finally quit the surgery and had a better job that allowed him to practice and teach the medicine he loved, and to be home every afternoon to be with the man he loved.

John walked all the way home, expecting to find Sherlock in one of his moods, being post-case and all, so he prepared himself for the upcoming eastern wind that his lover was. He sent him a message telling him he was going to be a little late; a pint with Greg and the boys, and a quick stop at Tesco for milk

Sherlock’s answer was just a simple “Okay, John” that left him slightly frightened that he might find a hole instead of the flat, and his madman covered in one of those orange shock blankets outside the blown up flat (wouldn’t be a first, wouldn’t be the last…)

He called Greg and asked him to meet him at the regular pub; but Greg gave some lame excuse about paper work; he called Mike, and he too sounded as if he was avoiding John. John just sighed and mustered all the energy he could to go to the flat and endure a session of moodiness before he could convince Sherlock that maybe with a sex session they could sleep better.

Sure John enjoyed having sex with Sherlock, the first time they were together, his mind was literally blown, he had no idea he could feel so much pleasure, joy and satisfaction with another man; his alleged heterosexuality out the window to never return again. It was always mind blowing how Sherlock could have him begging and panting and squirming, either at top or bottom, always for more, more, more…

He blushed remembering last night’s session, as always, a wonderful, mind blowing, sweet, tender, hot, sex session. They were seating next to each other pretending to watch telly. John was half asleep after correcting some tests, and Sherlock was lying as long as he is in the sofa, his head resting on John’s lap. At some point during the night Sherlock shifted and John opened his eyes, the light caught Sherlock’s naked thigh; the heating to high and the fire too hot to be wearing much clothing, and some strange need overcame him and he was on top of his lover, rutting desperately. Sherlock, as always, allowed him to do as he pleased, until he was spent in the early hour of the morning.

He felt the sudden urge to go home, never mind Sherlock’s mood, it could always be resolved with a wonderful session of love making, maybe a warm bath, late dinner after, snogging in front of the telly and so much needed sleep. He was expecting to see some ambulances, maybe a fire engine outside the flat, or something of the sorts, but no, the street was clear, everything was silent, and strangely normal.

He entered the flat and found Sherlock splayed on the sofa, he put the milk on the fridge and went to kiss his lover hello. Apparently, Sherlock was surprised to see John back so early; a pint with the mates meant coming home at midnight, if not later, a little bit on the tipsy side, and Sherlock having to endure his drunk flatmate’s rambling about how beautiful he was, about how sexy he looked, and how much he wanted him naked, begging on any horizontal surface he could find; of course, John would hit the pillow and fall asleep, curling to Sherlock’s side.

They had dinner, and watched telly for a while; Sherlock reminded him that at the date, they had been friends for five years, that it was five years since they solved their first crime together, five years since the day he had shot the cabbie. They both giggled remembering how those couple of days went, and how John had stopped using the cane, and the dinner at Angelo’s and “Mr. I’m married to my work” and “Mr. I’m not his date” giggling after running to catch a cab; all fond memories to them.

They kissed gently for a while, exchanging smiles and sweet words, but soon, things became hotter, the kisses needier, the soft caresses turned into groping; and their clothes were flying all over the living room; the breathing turned to panting, skin against skin, sweat and need, lusty eyes, moans and grunts.

“Where is the lube, love?” John asked breathless

“In your chair, as usual, on the left side” Sherlock answered with his husky chocolaty voice

John went up to his chair and looked for the little bottle but instead he found something else, a small black velvet box. When he turned to look at Sherlock he found him kneeling in front of him, with a wide smile and love in his eyes.

“Would you open the box?” Sherlock asked holding his breath

John couldn't breathe, couldn’t think, but his trembling fingers opened the tiny box to find a golden band that fitted perfectly in his fourth finger.

“Will you marry me John?”

“Yes, Sherlock, yes!” he said, excitement in his voice; he jumped to his lover’s arms and kissed him all over.

Inside the band he could read “blessed cabbie”


End file.
